Degradation
by joelcoxriley
Summary: The fall from grace is a long one, even for those decended from the Dragon Gods themselves. For Fentus, the wyrm knows his death is nigh, yet his purpose is not. His purpose is simple, yet damning: kill Spyro, and end the suffering that has kept he and his forefathers in pain before time immemorial.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I just got bored and posted this. Will definitely continue it due to background and originality. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

My name is Fentus.

I...do not know what I am, not entirely. I do know, however, the struggles of my forefathers: their power, their pride, their shame, and their suffering. Many have forgotten them, including the Dragons. The Dragons of Old long since forgotten by their Decedents, for all their foolish pride. But not by I, no, nor the Apes. What others forget, we remember. What others bury, we bring to light.

I garentee that much I will tell you, uncover, even, are not the tales and legends you are accustomed to hearing-believing. Like the legends of my forefathers, like any myth, I shall leave it up to you to believe in my tale, or dismiss it as the ramblings of a madman.

What I will show you, tell you, will show the truth to many things: The Dragons, the Apes, the Chronicler, Malefor and the other Purple Dragons. In time, you will understand why we hate them, why we hate the Purple Dragons, and the curse they have created upon the world.

I shall be blunt, for I dislike dishonesty. I did not understand my goal for hundreds of years, thousands, perhaps. Yet now I do. And I want one simple thing. I want to eradicate the Purple Dragons. No, I want to make sure one can never be birthed again. Is that insane? In my eyes, no, yet in your eyes? Yes, I imagine. But all I want is the pain to end. Unfortunately, that cannot happen so long as Purple Dragons exist.

I have no illusions to my ambitions or plans; they shall lead to my death, most likely. But the death of one is just a small price to pay when you are ridding nature of an abomination.

My reasons shall be explained in due time, friend. I promise you that. What I do not promise, however, is the clarity I wish to offer you, for my mind is plagued, and may not always be coherent.

I am Dragon, yet I am not Dragon. I am something far greater, yet something far less. I do not wish to kill Spyro, I have no quarrel with him. Were I any other creature I would leave him be, yet I am not. The pain is too great, too constant. I must correct the Ancestor's wrongs, regardless if it is considered in ill taste by you, friend. All I ask is for your patience and open mind, and everything shall be explained.

Now, I shall let you decide. Is this tale I shall tell you the forgotten truth, or the ramblings of a madman?


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, this chapter is devoted to backstory and plot build up. Fentus shall be revealed more in detail as the story goes on, though I'm not sure if the other chapters will be in first person. They may very well be in third person. I own all of these characters save for Malefor, but canon characters will come in shortly. Please enjoy.**

* * *

Where to begin? Where shall I start to make you understand? The beginning? The middle? How about the end? Ah...never you mind me. What I shall speak of is far before your time, and certainly far before I was conceived. I only wish for you to understand, and perhaps even learn the truth if you chose to believe me. I want to tell all I know of my father, and my father's father before my ambition, my anger, my pride, my insanity consumes me, and I lose the perception of truth and lies.

Yes, I shall begin at the very beginning of life, of the proud race of Dragons. Though now, mere parodies of their Ancestors. Of my Ancestors. I view the Apes as far closer kin.

Once, so long ago, before time immemorial, there were masses of raw energy, magic. In time, the magic of nature formed, creating the very first Ancestors. The Dragons of Old were gifted with every element known today, yet could not unlock their powers from their Olympic blood. The Elder Dragons were far beyond the perception of controlling nature, for they were nature itself. Instead, the Dragons of Old focused upon the one thing they did not control: Dragon Time. And swiftly, with their wisdom, Time was unlocked. However, they knew better than to taint the fragile ripples of Time, and let it be-something most would not do.

In time, the Dragon Elders bred, and produced eight offspring, each unlocking an element that their parents could not. The Elder Dragons guided their children into coming into contact with Humans, and the petty creatures saw the dragons as Gods. Thus, the eight became revered, and powerful.

The Old Gods were as thus:

Silvanox, the Dragon of Earth and Forest. It was he who was staunch, and wise, and vigilant in the defence of his worshippers, who were hard workers with the land and rock by which they farmed and mined. His altar was of the most precious gems and carved granite, which a sacred tree had bloomed around, and defended.

Vivirdissal, the Dragon of Sea and Lake. Whimsical was he, and a lover of fine art and song as his women danced and showered him with pearls, and his men worked the very waters he claimed for fish and treasure. His altar was in a cave, half submerged with glittering earthen teeth, both up and down where Sirens sung his words of praise to the worthy.

Clarusaer, the Dragon of Wind and Sky. Carefree he was, yet quick to spit and anger if one dampered his many joyous days of play. His worshipers played many musical instruments, and soared upon the gusts of his breaths, and relied heavily upon the wind from his wings to keep the dust at bay from their homes and farms among and dry and cracked ground. His altar was upon a mountain, shrouded with strong gales that seemed to whisper and sing of his glory, like the musical instruments his people played.

Levunda, the Dragon of Shock and Storms. Terrible, yet nurturing was she, like a scornful mother. Her worshippers celebrated her glory by performing water and storm dances, playing loud drums and gongs with the rhythm to her bellows as she danced in the sky, giving life saving rain to those worthy, and flashing lightning to deter attackers from her people. Her altar was surrounded by trees, burnt and dead from her power. Yet from her rain, as if from her tears of sorrow, the trees would grow and bloom for those worthy of her good graces.

Crystator, the Dragon of Cold and Ice. Cunning and callous was he as he ruled from his frigid peak. His land was cold and dry, and heat, there was no where to find. His people were hardy and strong, yet cunning and callous like their God, which he favored. They honored their God by building a temple of ice, his altar deep within the core of lost treasures and hidden fates.

Atura, the Dragon of Ash and Fire. Passionate and beautiful was she, a lover of fertility and motherings, which her women had often asked in blessings for. Her worshipers were many a mother and father in a harsh land, one side forest, and other burned wood. Her altar was surrounded by cooled lava, obsidian and flawless rubies scattering her altar along with tokens of her people as prayer.

Solaether, the Dragon of Light and Heaven. Gentle and peaceful this dragon was, a stunning beast made out of magic and light. His people were nothing more than mere travelers, living off the land, and always moving towards the setting sun. They would dance during the night for their Dragon God to return, and pray during the day, for the sun was his altar.

Noctemor, the Dragon of Moon and Shadow. Wrathful and shadowed was he, with armor and scales as black as true darkness that haunts the soul. His people were savage and rash, raping, pillaging and killing, for they followed the moon, and the moon turned shades of blood in the night.

The Dragon Elders did their best to to guide their children to peace, and while their children obeyed, their followers did not. Tensions built, and swelled, and soon the tribes had broken out into war, forcing their Dragon Masters to battle their own siblings. The rivers ran red with blood, the forests burned and died, the fires smoldered, the ice cracked and fell, the earth quaked and tumbled, the wind died down to nothing, and the rain ceased and thunder quieted. The Dragons of Old could only watch in terror as their once close children ripped each other apart, yet they could not help their offspring, for they lacked elements. Yet they did have something their offspring could not help but envy: Dragon Time.

Solaether and Noctemor continued to battle, causing nothing but death and destruction in their wake that the Dragon Elders were desperate to stop. Thus, the Dragons of Old united, and together, fully unlocked Dragon Time, focused upon their quarrelsome children. In a deafening scream, time was ripped and scarred, throwing the two dragons into time, lost.

The Dragon Elders, with all their strength and knowledge, faded from existence at the strain of their task, bursting into energy, spirits, as they watched over their remaining offspring. The Ancestors were unable to physically communicate with their children, and began to do so in dreams, guiding their descendants.

However, Time was heavily scarred by their desperate attempts to save the word, and had become corrupt. The scarring of Time had twisted the Humans, making them become even more strange creatures: Apes.

The Ancestors saw the error in their ways, and one had offered to become the Chronicler, to guard Time and to prevent Time from ever being scarred again.

However, the scarring of Time had also affected the Old Gods, for it was Atura that birthed the first Purple Shell-a most unnatural labor, for she had suffered greatly from the strain. One that would later become known as Malefor.

The Dragon Gods had then disappeared, lost within history and time as the strain became too great. They could not stand the presence of the Purple Dragon, for the unnatural fusion of elements caused them great pain-harming their very souls. But Atura was the one that had suffered the most-and still suffers. It breaks my heart to hear her cry within my soul.

Do you know why it takes a Purple Dragon every ten generations to be born? Because the magic within them is unnatural, and potent. Only Atura is strong enough to carry a Purple shell at the cost of being gravid for ten generations. For ten generations, the Purple shell feeds upon her, draining her energy, killing her. Her mournful cries I hear in my dreams. It grieves me to see my grandmother in pain. She is too beautiful to be tortured so. Worse yet, she cannot break the cycle. No one can.

Malefor was the first Purple Dragon, yet he was not the first child of Atura, no. After the scar, the Old Gods fled, and that rose the Lesser Gods-whom the Apes now worshiped in distant lands. Far away from Cheetahs, Moles and other races.

They worshiped my father. Razakel, the Dragon of Plague and Death. I am the grandson of the Dragons of Moon and Shadow and Fire and Ash. I am the son of the Dragon of Plague and Death.

Are you shocked that the Apes worshiped Dragons? In fact, they worshiped not one, but two. This I shall explain in due time, friend. Please, be patient.

The Apes, as you know, are greedy, savage creatures now cursed as undead. But what if I told you that is only part of the truth? Shall you believe me? The choice is yours, friend.

In truth, the Apes are not as evil as many dragons claim. No, they know nothing of the truth. I dislike hypocrisies of dragons whom claim the Apes started the war, deserved it, when the damned dragons and their abominations are just as guilty, if not more!

But...I digress, and I apologize.

The Apes are not evil. In fact, they are envious of the race of Dragons. And that is all they are. The Apes, like the Humans before them, longed to fly. Soar into the skies as we can. Why do you think they tame Dreadwings?

Before Malefor's rise, the troops regarded my father as their God. Every seven years twelve male apes from the dominant troop are chosen as sacrifices to my father. There is an arena, you see, and it is designed that blood from the loser runs down and pools in the very center. The survivor is given an obsidian serpent's fang-resembling Razakel's-and uses the ceremonial blade to cut open the torso of their kin. The Apes believe that Razakel causes death to all living creatures, and that in opening the body the soul is allowed to soar into the skies with Clorix-whom I can best describe as a merciful Ancestor who allows the dead apes to finally fly into the skies-something they could never fully achieve in life.

Once the ceremonial cut is made, the winner then drinks the blood of his kin, for these apes believe that by ingesting the blood of their kin, a part begins to live on in them and they grow stronger.

This process continues until only one male is left, and for the next week there are many parties, and the winner is allowed to bed as many women as he pleases-so long as they are not in his troop. This allows the strongest genes to be passed on, and allows the dominant troop to recover from their loss.

However, once the week is up, the ape then travels to the City of the Damned, or the Land of the Dead, where my father dwells. Where he is properly eaten whole. These rituals may seem very odd to you, but growing up amongst the Apes and being held as the highest male, it is normal. The Apes simply believe that my father will take away all life on this world, and believe that by making these sacrifices, they are saving the world. Granted, I doubt Razakel would destroy the world, intentionally, for he is very lazy, but I have no doubt that he could. I have seen him take a simple drink from a river, and the poison from his maw runs downstream and kills anything within, even nearby towns or forests far and wide from his poisoness rain. After all, there is a reason his territory is damned. Anything living within becomes ill, flesh falling off and being driven insane. It is a terrible death, and even the plant life struggles to survive. Still, I believe he means no harm. He has never attacked the troops, nor anyone else.

However, when Malefor rose to power, several of the apes believed that was their calling to appease the dragons. By fighting under the strongest beast imaginable. Many of the apes that once worshiped my father and Clorix fled to Malefor's reign. They believed they had waited long enough, they believed this was their chance to break away from so much death while living in constant fear. Others, however, remained bound to the Lesser Gods out of honor and duty, not willing to risk the end of life for false hope.

Malefor became offended against the few that followed his elder brother, and after a battle for dominance, ripped Razakel's wings from their sockets. The Purple One claimed Razakel should be damned to never grace the skies again, just as his followers. Believe what you will, but I do not believe this myth, for I have never seen any indication of wings or scarring on my father's shoulders. I believe it was Malefor's followers who made the myth to make him seem stronger.

I do not see myself as evil for wanting to desecrate the Purple Race. After all, I believe them to be unnatural abominations that were never meant to be created, for they upset nature's balance. Even worse than controlling all the Elements is the ability to control Dragon Time. Malefor should have been killed right before he hatched, as all the others. Who is to say Spyro will not change into a beast? I know I need to kill him, yet I do not want to, not entirely. But the pain is too much. I do not know who to hate more: Purple Dragons or Humans.

But I can't kill Atura. I can't bear to slay a heart that allowed me to live. And I do not know what would happen if one of the eight were slain. Would the dragons grow more unstable with their elements and gain additional elemental abilities? Or would Atura's death mean dragons of fire would cease being born? I do not know...

All I know is that I need to stop the pain, either temperary or perminatly. Time to get my talons dirty, I suppose. Like grandfather like grandson.


	3. Chapter 3

**I personally do not like this story, so I may rewrite it if not delete it.  
**

* * *

The night was young, and the two moons illuminated the dense forests of our homeland beautifully so. I sat near a desk, carefully pouring over the fragile scrolls that were laid out before me, taking utmost care that my poised talons did not tear them. That would be quite a shame if they did become damaged. All the secrets these precious scroll pertained of a time long past, all the truths held within them, waiting to be unlocked-gone. And it would all be because of my damned talons.

Slowly, gently, I opened them, taking care to not stress the aged parchment in anyway. The mere process of opening a simple scroll took several minutes, for I held these quite dear to me at the moment. I could not believe the luck we had. Or is it fate? Or chance? I can never tell. Perhaps fate ran into chance? Fate that the Apes mine such quarries, and mere chance that they had stumbled upon something so precious and frail.

I looked upon the parchment, the soft glow of a candle the only source of light other than the moons that symbolized my grandfather. I never liked the moons. They made something in my blood boil, as if something always wanted to escape. The moons always seemed to me to be a bad omen representing shadow, chaos, insanity...instincts. I now understand why Malefor waited until The Eternal Night to launch his plan. The darkness upon that night was stronger than any other night. I wonder if my father feels the tug of chaos boiling within his blood, just as I do? Or maybe it is just me...just me...

I paused, groaning a bit to push the thoughts from my head. No, no, no. These scrolls needed my full concentration lest I damage them. Yet the higher the moons rise, the more I feel my blood boil. My whole body...it burns...damnit...

Hot. Hot, I started to feel very hot. Hot-so much it burns! Father! Help me...please...why do you not answer, Father? Why do you not come to aid me? Is it the poison, Father? Is...is my own body...own blood...killing me? Why is it so strong tonight?

Unable to handle the chaos within my own body, I shot up, the chair being knocked over as I clawed at the scarf around my neck, feeling as if the black fabric was choking me, "Sacren! Sacren!"

I began to panic as I hurriedly ripped off my cloak and shirt, black scales running up my arms, shoulders, chest and lower back save for my spine, which was golden in color and make from hardened hair. The rest was soft flesh.

I tried to push the scrolls out of the way as I leaned upon the desk, feeling my body heave as I found I could no longer swallow, saliva dripping lazily out of my mouth.

In truth, I did not even register the door to my chamber opening as the ape walked in, herbs burning within his swinging urn as he chanted prayers and incantations. The incense that filled the air were dull, yet sweet, and my body slowly ceased to heave as I regained control, feeling the chaos and pain subside.

The old sage continued to chant, I calming down until Sacren hung the still burning urn upon a hook.

"Can you breathe?" The old ape asked, I merely nodding in response as my jaw twitched and cracked-side effects of the adrenalin coursing through my body.

"It is getting worse...but what can I do?" I asked, "It is that time of the year."

"We can have herbs being burned in your chambers." Sacren grumbled, a large ape, whom I was almost just as tall for I did not stand upon all fours, but two. Like the Apes. My back was...less hunched, however.

"I would prefer to use them sparingly. And only at night. But what if I grow immune? I do not want to risk that."

"Then do as you please." The old sage grumbled, sporting black cloth and leather, several dragon chick skulls tied to his belt as well as dragon scales upon his hands, like gauntlets, "What were you doing, if I may ask?"

"I was about to look over some scrolls the excavation team uncovered. I am most excited about it." I exclaimed, smiling as my fangs shone in the light and Sacren released a gruff chuckle.

"You know, Fentus, for the son of a Dragon God I figured you would be the kind for death and glory. Not...scrolls and books."

"I like remembering things. And I watch the Sacrificial Rites every time! I like a good show of blood sport as well. Speaking of which, the Rite shall begin during the eclipse, no?" I asked, wondering if my time was off due to keeping myself confined with my studies. With the tribes at peace and keeping away from foreign races, there was very little need of my leadership at the moment. Sacren himself was the leader of this tribe.

"That it shall. Maybe I shall be chosen this time? Who is to say?" Sacren questioned, rubbing his beard in thought.

"So...the tribe does not know who will be chosen? What a shame."

"Aye. Tiga made it all the way to your father last time. Left his mate with child, though."

I frowned a bit, picking up my shirt and putting it back on, as well as wrapping the scarf around my neck so that it covered my mouth. I loved that old scarf. It was so reliable. And I generally like scarves, "I know what it feels like to never see your child born or grow. It is...a painful feeling."

"Will you try to find another woman?" Sacren asked, eyes looking upon me with curiosity as I scrunched my nose a bit, as if offended.

"No, and I never will. I have no interest." I stated firmly, not wishing to go further into the topic. I could tell my old friend respected my word, for he did not press.

"You know, Fentus...maybe fresh air would do your lungs good? Perhaps you should come live in the trees and-"

"No." I stated firmly, speaking swiftly with agitation, "I wish to remain as far away from the moons as possible."

"Ah...I see, my lord." Sacren replied, I shaking my head and sighing.

"I did not mean to sound so harsh. I apologize. You know my temper...I thank you, but I fear I must decline your generous offer." I reworded. Within our forested homelands, the Apes tended to make building within the trees in an attempt to be closer to the skies. Some, however, chose to simply live on the ground. I was one of those few.

"Apology accepted."

"Thank you for coming to my aid, Sacren. Now, please leave. I want to work upon my scrolls if you do not mind." I stated, the old ape bowing his head before taking his leave, allowing the burning urn to remain.

I watched the old male leave before returning to be scrolls, taking care with them. The writings, unfortunately, I could not decipher, for the ink itself was so faded. However, some things had stood out to me. I recognized the city of Warfang-a city which I hated, the dragons having lost their touch with their elements long ago. Pathetic parodies that they are. Prideful in nothing but their precious Ancestors whom they know nothing about because they simply do not remember. But I remember, oh, yes, I do.

If only I could have crushed Spyro's damned shell when I had the chance. But then how could I have gotten rid of Malefor? I could not, not without help. Thank you, Spyro. And now you have expired your useage. But...when to strike? How to fight you without fighting you?

Hmmmmm...perhaps this scroll can help me? Yes? No?

Time is the answer. Yes, Time. All I need is Time. Do you have time, Spyro? How much more time do you have left, I wonder?


End file.
